


Hold Me Down

by ManaPotion



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Biting, Bodice-Ripper, Chubby!Thor, Cunnilingus, I just wanted to write angry porn and then they caught feelings help, Implied Past Dub/Noncon, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Jealous Thor (Marvel), Loki is a genderfluid frost giant bitch who leaves a string of broken hearts behind him, M/M, Marking, Mutual Pining, Other, POV Loki (Marvel), Possessive Behavior, Service Top!Thor, Step-Sibling Incest, Thor slut-shames Loki, and Loki/Fandral, and Loki/Sigyn, and Loki/Skathi, fusion of Norse mythology and Marvel, mark Thor down as scared and horny, mentions of Loki/Angrboda, mentions of canonical horse-fucking, thicc!Thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 23:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17907596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManaPotion/pseuds/ManaPotion
Summary: Perhaps he is wicked, truly, thoroughly, and a lifetime of close proximity to him has corrupted even proud, gold-hearted, iron-sided Thor.Fortunately, it’s difficult to be troubled by the thought, because the Ás is looking at him like he’s about to swallow Loki whole.





	Hold Me Down

 

Night is falling on the edge of the forest. When most of the Aesir like to draw closed the little shutters of their homes against the chill, Loki keeps his open, pleased by the cold sting in the air. It’s almost as if he can smell the stars.

The crackling hearth keeps his forest home warm enough, in any case. It’s the tail end of autumn, settling slow and heady into the promise of a fair winter. Loki gathers his crystals off the raw birch center table, returning them to the shelves by his bed. Some have shown promise as sunstones: these he lays out, side by side. The others he adds to a carved bowl full of bones and lesser gems.

He’s leaning from an open window to check on his drying sage when he hears the rhythmic canter of hooves on fresh earth in the distance. Someone is riding to his hut.

Not just any someone. He knows by the ozone scent on the wind already who it is, but not to what the visit is owed. He considers avoiding the meeting by escaping into the woods, but curiosity, as is often the case, gets the better of him.

Mere moments pass before Thor appears, and regret is soon to follow. Thor bursts through the door-skins, ruddy, windblown, and then stops dead, staring like Loki has grown three heads.

“Good evening, Thor,” Loki returns the book of incantations he’d been holding, his own posture a study in calm composure. “A knock at the door posts is considered polite, you know.”

“You fucked the stallion.”

It isn’t a question, not really, but Thor’s face is nevertheless one of shock, disbelief, and barely hemmed-in rage.

Loki thinks swiftly. It is fortunate that he is so accustomed to it. “So what if I did?” There is little use in lying when Thor is like this, so Loki attempts to wave him off, not quite daring to meet his eye.

He crosses the space between them, thinking to glide past his fair brother, and vanish into the falling night. Thor halts him, grabbing his arm with one massive hand, calluses catching at the fine weave of Loki’s silvery tunic.

“You fucked Svadilfari,” Thor says again, and this time it's nearly a shout. “You turned yourself into a mare, and then you fucked the horse.”

Loki swallows, testing Thor's grip. He'll have to use seidr to get out of it.

“And what if I did?” Loki repeats, feigning indifference, tilting back his dark head to look down his nose at strong, golden Thor. “Don't tell me you're jealous, brother mine.”

Thor's eyes blow wide. Loki meant it as a distraction, a smokescreen from this strange anger, lest the god of thunder bring down a bolt of lightning to cleave the flesh from his bones.

He never expected to truly hit a nerve.

And yet, that seems to be precisely what unfolds before him. Thor sputters, his huge, sun-bronzed chest heaving as with sudden effort. Thor takes a step back, the door skins of Loki's home giving way at his back, his hold on Loki's bicep loosing.

Just as Loki is about to slip away, though, Thor's thick fingers tighten once more. He squares his stance, stepping back into his brother's space, and slams his free fist backward into the door beam so hard he cracks the wood. The entire hut shakes.

“Do not,” Thor booms, a peal of thunder sounding in the distance, “play games with me, trickster. I have withstood you lowering yourself to lie with Angrboda. The jötnar are your people, after all, as much as you are ours. I have withstood the company of the beasts you've wrought with her, I have forbidden that they come to harm at the hands of the Aesir. I have turned aside as you fucked Fandral, and Sigyn, and the wives of our warriors as they fought for glory beyond our lands. But _this,”_ Thor grimaces, clenching and unclenching his hand, as though he might call Mjölnir to him and finally free Loki's shoulders of his head, “ _this_ I cannot abide. Are you so desperate for cock that you would take the form of a mare simply to receive it?”

Loki doesn't let himself be shocked at the outburst. He can't, not if he wishes to act on its cause.

“Oh Thor _,_ ” Loki purrs, slinking forward like silk to brush up against him, his gaze cold steel beneath the dark fan of his lashes. “You _are_ jealous.”

“I will not stand by,” Thor stiffens, his voice shaking, and the hut flashes once, twice with the glow of far-off lightning, “I will not stand by and watch as you debase yourself like this!”

“And who,” Loki wets his lips, canines sharp in the brief flashes of light, “would you rather I debase myself with?”

They’re nearly pressed together now, and it would take so little for Loki to slide his long leg, muscles firm from a youth spent riding, in between his brother’s thick thighs. Thor’s breath, notably strained, brushes against the dark strands of Loki’s hair. His rounded belly pushes plush against the jut of Loki’s hip as he leans, almost unwillingly into Loki’s touch.  How? How has the God of Mischief been so blind as to not have seen this, to not have realized the pull between them to be more than just the flights of his own perverse fancy, all this time? Perhaps he _is_ wicked, truly, thoroughly, and a lifetime of close proximity to him has corrupted even proud, gold-hearted, iron-sided Thor.

Fortunately, it’s difficult to be troubled by the thought, because the Ás is looking at him like he’s about to swallow Loki whole. But Loki gets no further than sliding his slender hand up the broad expanse of Thor’s arm before Thor sputters, and shoves him away.

“A wife,” Thor finally responds. “Find yourself a good wife, Loki, and you will have no further need of such depravity!

“I had a betrothed, brother, or has the memory fled your thick head? Skathi. Though, as I recall, you were not particularly fond of her.”

Thor opens his mouth, then shuts it. Then opens it again. “A proper wife, Loki!” he  deflects. “An Ás, one of our own people. One who will help tend your hearth, and take up the shield if our enemies once again make the mistake of threatening our gates. Not a giantess of the cold and of the dark!”

Loki laughs, tossing back his head with a shock of poured-ink hair. “Oh, brother mine. You speak as though I myself were not a creature of the frost and of the night. Who would you offer, for such a coupling? Beyla? Freya? Sif?”

The vein in Thor's temple bulges harder at each offered suggestion. “Must I make your conquests of love for you as well, little brother?” He slices his open palm through the air, but avoids striking the door beam this time. Loki thinks it just as well: it might not withstand another battering.

“Evidently not, dear Thor,” Loki sighs, “and isn't that the problem that brings you riding for Hel to my little part of the woods on such an otherwise peaceful night? You do not approve of my conquests. And that is a shame, but for you alone, for my body is not yours to do with as you will.”

That seems to give Thor pause. The Ás huffs out a breath and runs a hand through his hair, collecting beads of sweat from his forehead as he goes. Loki tries not to stare. “You know well that’s not what I — that isn’t my concern!”

“Indeed, Thor. It’s really not.”

“I meant—! I only meant my concern is for you, Loki.”

“And who I bed.”

“Yes, in this matter, yes! Such a pairing is...” Thor trails off, a grimace marring his fair features. “Beneath you, brother. You must know that.”

“And you must know I never do anything without a reason, and that often those reasons are ones I cannot reveal.”

Thor’s eyes light with a spark Loki only ever sees on the battlefield, or on the rare occasion someone slights Thor in the mead hall. “If someone has forced themself on you, brother, whatever the circumstance, I swear to all the heavens that I will take Mjölnir and —”

“Oh hush, will you?” Loki banishes the rest of the speech with a graceful wave, but can’t help the little smile that quirks his lips at Thor’s display. “You and that hammer of yours. Will you trust me, brother? To come to you when I have need of your aid, and to tend my own matters, without it?”

“I always trust you, Loki,” says Thor, resigned, “more than I ought. And you always make me sorry for having done so.”

The little smile blooms into a full, sharp grin now. “Am I really as bad as that, brother?”

“Worse,” Thor grunts softly, his muscles still shifting with unused anger.

Loki thinks he should do something about that wasting energy, before the chance is wholly lost to him. And so he brushes past the warning that's drumming in the back of his head, and steps back into his brother’s space.

“Now then. I can’t have you come all this way and let your advice go unheeded, can I?”

Thor eyes him, more suspicious than hopeful, and not entirely unlike the way one eyes a snake in the grass.

“You spoke of a bride, my dear Thor. One worthy of me.”  His cold hand alights on Thor’s forearm, and Loki bites down on his excitement to feel the shiver his simple touch draws forth. “So let us think! She should be Aesir, you say.” Loki begins walking his fingers up Thor’s arm, brushing the spun-gold curls of hair as he goes. “A warrior, but one who makes sure to tend her home. An untitled Ás won’t do — I am, after all, heir to the whole of Jotunheim.”

Thor twitches, swallows, and stands his ground. Loki continues.

“Perhaps one with a swift temper to match my tongue, with hair like the sun and eyes like the midday sky — not a beauty of the dark and cold as I.” He’s reached the top of Thor’s broad shoulder, and jumps his fingers the rest of the way to tug lightly at the beard beneath Thor’s handsome chin. “Tell me, Odinson. Do you know of any such maiden?”

Thor grabs him. Loki scarcely has time to register the motion before he’s shoved several feet, straight up against the wall behind him, Thor’s arms like iron around his waist. A sound escapes Loki, and the next thing he knows, Thor is plundering Loki’s mouth with his tongue like it’s the last shore he’ll ever see.

Loki’s cry when Thor parts for breath is nothing if not triumphant, but he only gets a moment before Thor's mouth descends upon his neck, biting down hard enough to break the skin. Loki cries out again, part with the pained shock of it, and the answering groan of want that shakes its way out of Thor’s chest has Loki baring his neck for further attention. Thor takes what’s given. He nips, once, twice, then kisses with soft lips, almost apologetic, over the tender mark he’s just created.

Loki lets himself moan. Runs his dark nails down Thor’s back. Sneaks his fingers up under Thor’s tunic, feeling the hidden plushness at the top of the warrior’s hips. Wraps one long leg around Thor’s calf, rubbing encouragement.

“Did you spread your legs this easily for all of them, brother?” Thor growls against his pulse.

“Did you strip your prick when you heard of it, _brother_ ,” Loki gasps, digging his nails into Thor’s yielding flesh, “wishing you could take their place?”

Thor fists his hair, the grip just shy of too hard, and with his other arm half pushes, half carries him to the nearby table. It’s fortunate Loki had cleared it off earlier, because now Thor is bending him over it, the full flat of his tongue dragging hungrily down the long line of Loki’s neck.

“ _Loki,_ ” he groans, trapping the jötunn’s body against the table with his own impressive weight. “You taste so good.”

Loki moans again, near-delirious at the answering roll of Thor’s hips against his ass. “Show me,” he spreads his legs, just a little wider. “Show me what — ah! What I’ve been missing.”

Thor doesn’t need to be told again. He pulls himself back to his full height, and jerks down Loki’s breaches just as swiftly. Loki barely manages to swallow his yelp as his cock bounces against the table, Thor rucking Loki’s tunic up to expose him further.

“Oh, brother,” Thor’s voice has gone rough, and soft, “you’re _wet_.”

Loki cranes to look over his shoulder, just in time to see Thor sink to his knees behind him. Hilt-calloused hands land on the meat of his ass, spreading him open.

“You’re so wet,” Thor whispers, and he’s so close Loki can feel the breath on his cunt, sending a tremor down his open legs.

When Thor licks, Loki no longer bothers to try to hold back his yelp. The full flat of Thor's tongue slides firm against Loki’s folds, up and back and up again. One of his hands comes around, encircles and squeezes Loki’s aching dick. He gasps when Thor closes his lips around what he can of Loki’s cunt, and suckles his folds in. _Norns._ It’s better than it has a right to be.

Loki drops from his elbows, chest meeting the table, and grinds his quim back on Thor’s face. He’s careless of the sounds he’s making, not when he can feel the vibration of Thor’s groans pressed against his sex, not when Thor follows the little path of soft skin up to his puckered hole and dips his tongue in.

It’s too much, the way that rough hand works up and down Loki’s heavy dick, the way the Thunderer licks and sucks at him, like he’s the rarest taste brought in from the farthest realm.

Loki comes far too quickly.

It shudders its way through him, crests in his core and trembles its way down through his spread legs. He cries out. His cock pulses hot in Thor’s hand, cunt spasming shut around nothing, Thor’s tongue still keeping rhythm against him. Hand still pumping, still working, till Loki drops his head to the table and whines, till Thor’s milked the last drop from him.

He doesn’t get a respite. Thor releases his cock, only to hook both arms over top of Loki hips, and lick with renewed vigor over Loki’s soaked folds.

“Thor!” he shouts, and tries to stand, but it’s little use. Thor has him locked in place, nuzzling fiercely back and forth over his swollen cunt, till Loki is writhing from overstimulation, unable to escape, his muscles seizing whenever Thor’s beard pricks at his tender skin.

“Stop, stop, Thor, a moment!”

With considerable reluctance, Thor loosens his grip. It takes Loki some moments to catch his breath.

When he turns around at last, leaning against the table for support, he’s treated to a sight he thinks he’ll carry with him to the end of his days. Thor is still on his knees before him, hair a mess, beard mussed, and half his face is wet with Loki’s slick.

Loki drinks it in for a greedy moment, then takes pity. Reaches forward and starts to wipe his mess from Thor’s face with a warm hand. He doesn’t get far before Thor stops him — grabs his wrist, his gaze fast on Loki’s, and proceeds to lick Loki’s hand clean.

“You’re an animal,” Loki huffs, certain his dick’s valiant attempt at renewed readiness somewhat softens his words’ intended effect.

“I was told you enjoy that.” Thor’s voice is a throaty wreck, a string of precome drips from his freed cock. _Hel,_ he must have been jerking himself through it.

“Come — come to bed,” Loki pushes off from the table, testing his still-shaking legs. Thor surges to his feet, pulling him into a bruising kiss. It’s a bolt of lightning moving down the length of his spine, the way Thor chases after some kind of taste from within him, like he can’t quite reach it, like he can’t get in deep enough.

“Bed, Thor,” Loki says again, a little short of breath, and suddenly Thor ducks down against him, and he’s being hoisted over the Ás’s shoulder like a war-prize.

“Put — ah! Put me down, you oaf!”

He’s deposited onto the bedfurs with just as little grace, and Thor shucks his own clothes the rest of the way, moving to cover Loki with his massive body. Then he stops abruptly, seeming surprised by what must be the expression on Loki’s face.

“Do I look like some slave-girl to you,” Loki hisses, pushing at him as Thor’s weight jostles him in the bed, “to be carried off into the fields when you’re too deep in your cups to have a care?”

“Brother, I meant no offense.” Thor bites his lip, looking a bit cowed, but moreso confused. There’s probably not enough blood getting to his head.

Loki folds his arms across his chest, certain in his ability to look haughty, even clad in nothing but a rumpled tunic, with the wetness still spreading down his thighs.

“You liked it before,” Thor attempts “when I—” the glare Loki fixes him with seems to have him think the better of finishing his sentence. Then he deflates somewhat, with a let-out breath. “Have I spoiled it?”

In spite of himself, Loki’s heart pangs. If someone had told him this morning that come nightfall, he’d have the Mighty Thor in his bed, eyes soft and lip stuck out, fond and wretched, like a dog put out in the rain, at the thought he’d done something to offend — well. Loki would have called them mad.

“No,” Loki answers at length, feeling something hot and uncomfortable crowding the back of his throat. “I don’t think you could spoil it, even if you tried.”

It’s worth it, to see the stupid grin that puts on his brother’s face. Norns, but what has Loki done to deserve this?

Thor leans forward, plants a kiss on the tip of the Trickster’s nose, and silently Loki curses himself, because it spreads through him thick and warm like honey. He’s really done himself in, this time. He isn’t sure how he’ll come out of this.

And it gets worse.

Thor kisses his eyelids, first one, then the other, and Loki lies quite still and feels his cheeks burn, overwhelmed with the urge to stab him.

Thor’s big hand gentles down his chest, hooks his thumb under the hem of Loki’s tunic when he reaches. “Can I take this off?” he asks.

“Yes,” Loki sighs, relieved, irate, scratching his fingers across Thor’s scalp. “And stop touching me like I’m wrought from glass.”

Thor stops and quirks his brow at that. Grabs two fistfuls of Loki’s tunic, at either side of the open collar, and tears it apart, right down to the hem.

“Thor!” Loki shouts, furious, delighted, “that was made with silver thread!”

“You’re maddening, you know that, brother?” Thor says, nipping at his collarbone.

“It only— ah! It only seems that way because you’re an idiot.”

Thor looks up from where he’s been sucking a mark onto Loki’s exposed chest. “The idiot you’re bedding,” he growls.

“Wouldn’t be the first. Or the la—”

Thor bears down on him, covers his mouth with a thick hand before he can finish. “You will have to,” Thor pins Loki’s wrist to the bed with his free hand, sucking a dark nipple into his mouth and then releasing it, “speak plain to me, Trickster, since I am such an idiot. I can’t make sense of your games.”

He laves Loki’s nipple, sucks and bites at it, pulling back only when it’s swollen and red. Then he releases his hold over Loki’s mouth, and leans over him with a sudden sincerity that’s so raw Loki feels a stab of fear, deep in some iced-over part of himself.

“If you wish me to stop,” Thor continues, “you need only say so. But for once, brother, say what you mean. I couldn’t bear it if I forced my way into your— oof!”

Using his free hand, Loki nails him with a balled up fur from the bed.

“Loki!” Thor shouts, pinning both his wrists to the bed now. “Do not jest!”

“Alright,” Loki wheezes with laughter, “alright! I yield. Let me up.”

Thor is giving him that look again. The look that holds more suspicion than hope, but which still possesses both.

"Let me up, and I'll speak plain," Loki soothes. "I promise."

Thor releases his wrists, sitting back on his heels. Loki follows him. Runs his hands through Thor’s hair, just the way he’s thought of, every time the sunlight hits it just so, careful of the knots they’ve made.  He lets one hand cup the back of Thor’s neck. Runs down Thor’s arm with the other, squeezing muscle appreciatively as he goes.

“I do want you here, you oaf,” he leans in and whispers right next to Thor’s ear, feeling the muscles in the Ás’s bicep jump at the sound. “I want you in me.” He drops his hand, and wraps Thor’s leaking prick in a loose grip. It jerks hot against his palm.  “I like working you up. Can’t recall the last time I came quite that fast.” Thor groans at that, hot and low, and Loki wishes he didn’t feel like keeping his promise. Wishes he could abandon this conversation, in favour of pulling more of those ragged sounds from Odin’s golden son.

“I just didn’t fancy being hefted like a hind for the slaughter,” he finishes.

“You—” Thor gasps, and it’s little wonder. He’s so hard it must ache. “You could have said so.”

“I did.”

“But you — ah! Then you…” Thor trails off as Loki twists a clever hand over his leaking cockhead, rolling his balls in the other.

“Don’t argue with me when your cock’s in my grip. Not if you want to know how it feels inside of me.”

“Norns, Loki…!”

Thor’s on him again. Hands fierce and eager on Loki’s body, pinning him back onto the bed, and Loki goes gladly. Thor bites kisses onto his neck, his chest, licking the sweat from his skin, and Loki opens his knees wide, rubbing his twin sexes up against Thor’s prick.

“Where,” Thor gasps, looking down uncertain where his cock’s fat head pushes against Loki’s narrow slit.

“Here,” Loki agrees, taking his meaning, and lifting his hips, reaching between them to line Thor up with his hole instead.

Thor gathers slick from his brother’s cunt with a shaking hand. Spits in his palm to add to it, rubbing both onto his dick.

“Go on,” Loki urges hot in his ear, pushing out to meet him. “Go on, Thunderer. Ruin me for the rest.”

Thor buries his face in his brother’s neck, and pushes in. Whines when he’s fully hilted, and it all comes apart from there.

Loki hooks his long legs tight around Thor’s ample waist, greedy, strong hands grasping at the muscles of Thor’s ass. Thor fucks him deep, stilted and rough before he falls into a rhythm. Loki tilts his hips, up, up, searching for the angle he needs. When he reaches it, Thor must know, because he hooks one arm under Loki’s leg, keeping him in place so he can thrust against it, again and again.

It sparks and spreads in Loki’s core. The way Thor doesn’t pull all the way out, like he can’t bear the distance. The way Thor holds and grabs at him, like he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t taste every last length of Loki’s skin.

“When?” Loki gasps, Thor’s teeth scraping across his ribs. “When did you first know you wanted me like this?”

Thor growls, not answering, unless the redoubled grip around Loki’s leg is meant to say something.

“ _When_ , Thor?” Loki hisses, pulling none-too-gently at Thor’s blond mane of hair, as Thor’s tongue drags insistent down the hollow of his collarbone.

“Always. Always. _Loki_.”

“You fool,” Loki gasps as Thor fucks him. “Oh, you fool.” The push of Thor’s cock against the walls of his channel spreads like a shimmery quiver inside of him.

“I may be a fool, but I swear to you, Loki. I will be the last fool in your bed. I will come so deep inside of you,” Thor rasps, mouthing at the long line of his brother’s neck, “that you will smell of me until Ragnarök.”

Loki can’t help it. He comes apart at that, heedless of the cries he makes. His cock pulses, trapped against Thor’s full belly, wetting it what what’s left of his spend. His cunt clenches tight, taking the muscles of his ass with it, and Thor groans, long, low, and hilts himself, spilling as deep as he can get.

“Loki _,_ ” he groans, “ _Loki._ ”

It’s long moments before Loki can see something other than sharp lights gleaming behind his eyelids. Thor’s head rests square on his chest, softening length still buried inside him.

“Well, that was,” Loki pants, trying for aloofness and falling rather short of the mark, “an unexpected end to the evening.”

Thor grunts, tightening his hold around Loki’s muscled waist. “Who says it’s at an end?”

“Oh, you are a brute.” Loki swats weakly at him, suppressing a laugh. “And you’ve gotten heavy. Let me breathe.”

Thor grumbles, but slips out at length and rolls to one side, leaving an arm slung possessively over Loki’s chest.

“Did you mean that,” Loki asks, against his own better judgement, staring at the thick pine boards of his roof. “What you said.”

“I always mean what I say,” Thor yawns, slinging a fur over them both and settling in, “unlike a certain jötunn I know.”

Loki grins in spite of himself. Perhaps he’s going mad again.

Before long, Thor’s snoring softly, and Loki makes the mistake of looking at him. His brother in arms rests there, long blond hair framing his absurdly chiselled face, a look of utter contentment spread across it.

It scares him.

Loki crawls out from under Thor’s arm and leaves the bed.

“Where are you going,” Thor mumbles into the furs, half-asleep.

“Just to fetch some water,” Loki lies, then slips away out the door, and disappears into the night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://sulkywerewolf.tumblr.com/), [DW](https://manapotion.dreamwidth.org/), or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sulkywerewolf)!
> 
> The talented [@DreamerInSilico](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamerInSilico) was kind enough to beta this fic for me!  
> Thor's line about Ragnarok was inspired by a similar one in ohfreckle’s [_Washed Away A Dream Of You_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758405), used with permission.


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